


Broken-hearted

by Never laugh at a live Sherlock (smaugholmeswatson)



Series: The Engifted [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angels, Domestic Fluff, Dragons, Emotional Manipulation, Engifted, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Mutant Powers, POV John Watson, POV Multiple, Revelations, Secrets, Sequel, Torture, Winglock, Wings, elemental powers, established universe, sex and violence, so much blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9800561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaugholmeswatson/pseuds/Never%20laugh%20at%20a%20live%20Sherlock
Summary: A sequel to 'Heart of Darkness'. A world where Engifted (people with incredible powers or mutations) and humans live uneasily side by side.After the terrible and life-altering events of last year life for Sherlock and John is only just starting to get back to normal. Of course there is no way it could last and before too long everything has gone terribly wrong.Greg Lestrade goes missing and when Sherlock and John step in to try and find out what is going on, they find themselves in a deadly game against a huge corporation with a dark intention for Engifted.It is going to be a miracle if any of them get out of the case alive. But it might be possible with a little help from some new and unexpected friends and some old allys who helped them against Nightmare.One things for sure life just got a hell of a lot more complicated for Sherlock, John and for all of Engifted kind. If they can't solve the case it could even prove deadly.*Murder, mayhem, dragons and angels collide in the second installment in the Engifted trilogy. Please enjoy.





	1. Somebody that I used to know- Lestrade

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points for those who can spot the song titles I have used for chapter titles. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another instalment in 'The Engifted' trilogy. I'm sorry it's been a long wait for this one. I've been very busy over the summer but rest assured I will do my best to update whenever I have a free moment from now on. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this latest story from my fantasy and Sherlock obsessed brain. :) As ever feel free to leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers!

Today is a big day for me, one I have been dreading ever since I made the decision to come back to this place. My hands are shaking and I am barely able to grip the key as I feed it into the lock. It's strange to think it has been a whole year since I last walked through this door. Back then I had no idea just how drastically my life would change. A lump forms in my throat, choking me when I try to swallow. At the same time the shaking grows worst, making it almost impossible for me to open the door. Swearing beneath my breath at how ridiculous I'm being I lightly bang my head against the door. Come on Greg, you can do this! Pull yourself together! Taking a deep breath I try again. 

This time the key goes easily into the lock and within minutes I am slowly walking up the all too familiar stairs towards my flat. Halfway up, for a split second, I swear I hear Mycroft welcoming me home. I look up, expecting to see him standing on the landing. Of course it is empty and a wave of aching disappointment sweeps over me. Which is a little daft because I know he has now been dead for the better part of a year. Still this doesn't stop a tear dripping down my cheek. Annoyed at myself I reach up to wipe it away. Dwelling on the past is never a healthy past time. 

Taking a deep breath I carry on climbing, all the while ignoring the ghosts of memory playing out around me. I have been putting this moment off for months because of my unwillingness to return to a place where I'd once been so happy. At times Mycroft's absence has been a physical ache in my chest that at times, has been so bad, I have barely been able to breathe. Not even telling myself he died a hero has done anything to dull the pain. They say grief gets better over time but so far, in my experience at least, it only seems to grows stronger. 

The flat, once a cosy place, now feels vast and empty with only me to fill it, and everything is covered in a fine layer of dust. Overwhelmed, all I do at first is stand and survey the cluttered rooms while I wonder where I should start first. Since going into the bedroom fills me with an all-consuming dread I decide to concentrate my efforts on the study. Though Mycroft often used it I know for certain there won't be any personal items in there... or at least nothing that will make me want to burst into tears. 

Despite these reassurances to myself I still find myself hesitating before I open the door to the study. For a moment I stand there with one hand resting on the wood while I sum up the courage to go inside. After a few seconds of this I push the door open and go inside, finding a room that is mostly empty aside from the brown files strewn across the surface of the desk. A smile spreads across my face. I can remember bringing mugs of tea to Mycroft in this room as he worked late into the night. I hadn't minded; it had given me a chance to catch up on my own enormous piles of paperwork. 

With a quiet sigh I sit down in the comfortable chair Mycroft had insisted that I buy (it was good for the back apparently) and pull one of the files towards me. It isn't very interesting- a simple series of memos about general office business- and I quickly put it to one side in favour of another one. Almost immediately I can tell this file contains something interesting. Emblazoned on the front are the words, 'top secret' and 'do not read if you don't have the proper level of clearance'. 

Yes I realise I should probably put this file to one side but right now this is one of the few things I have left that belonged to Mycroft. I really couldn't care less if it gets me into trouble. Without another thought I flip the file open and begin to read. 

**'The Regeneration Program' - making the world a better place.** "The Regeneration Program is an amazing opportunity to become a better version of yourself using the wondrous new advancements we have recently made in science. An opportunity open to all those who are willing to put their old life behind them and embrace the future". 

Around about here I stop reading, my attention drawn instead to the handwritten paragraph at the bottom. Tears prick my eyes as I run my fingertips slowly along the words. It may be a tiny little thing but it's a link to Mycroft. For a moment I can almost see my love sitting here and writing the words I am now reading... I let out a breath and reach up to wipe away my tears before I can carry on. If a few words can reduce me to this then god knows what I'll be like when I have to sort through things he actually touched and wore. Finally, after several long minutes, I am able to continue reading. 

_Note- I have been unable to find much information about the Regeneration Program but I am sure that Dwight White is hiding something from the Government. Something doesn't feel right about this so called new project of his. In the past year since rumours started to circulate twenty six of the Engifted recruited by Dwight have vanished and nobody seems to have any idea what happened to them. I have tried to investigate only to be blocked by Dwight and his staff at every turn. It is annoying and incredibly worrying. I must ask Greg to look into it when he has a free moment. Until then I must make sure to keep Dwight under surveillance._

Here the note ends, leaving me feeling confused and a little shaken. This feeling only gets worse when I notice the date scribbled beneath it. The note was written three days before his death. My hands begin to shake and it takes an alarming effort of will not to burst into tears. To distract myself I re-read the note, thinking carefully about what the contents could mean. They are certainly troubling and I can not believe no-one has noticed these Engifted going missing. Surely somebody would have reported it. I let out a sigh and sit back in my chair, staring blankly down at the open file without really seeing it. It makes me wonder what else could be going on beneath my nose. At the same time I am still struggling to digest what I have just read. When I came here to tidy things away I never could have imagined I would come across something like this. 

I now have a decision to make. Do I leave this to someone else to deal with or do I finally go back to work and deal with it myself. It should of course be the second one but even after a year out of work I am still not sure if I'm ready to go back just yet. I'm not ready for the sympathetic glances and the whispering behind my back. Somehow, even though I tried to keep it a secret, the fact Mycroft and I were in a relationship spread throughout Scotland Yard within a matter of days after his death. I only went on compassionate leave in the first place because I grew tired of people asking me if I was okay... Of course I wasn't bloody ok! The man I loved had just died! No, I promised myself I wouldn't dwell on those thoughts any longer. Forcibly pushing them to one side I turn my attention to the problem in front of me, once again trying to come to a decision. It only takes a matter of seconds for me to consider calling Sherlock because I'm sure he would be interested to hear about Engifted going missing. 

Decision made (even if it isn't the one I originally intended to make) I get up and head into the hall to grab my jacket off its hook. Before I can find my phone however there comes an unexpected sound that makes me jump and whirl towards the door. I will admit now that the events of last night have made me a little paranoid when I'm out and about on my own. Who on earth could that be ringing the doorbell? As far as I know nobody knows I'm coming here today. Almost immediatly panic sets in, freezing me to the spot as I decide whether to answer the door or simply run away and hide. It takes me a few seconds and a number of deep breaths before I finally relax enough to slowly make my way down the stairs. 

When I reach the bottom I pause long enough to peer through the spy-hole, wanting to make sure it is indeed a friend rather than a threat who is knocking on the door. To my surprise a street patrolling policeman stands on the step outside, his bright yellow florescent jacket buttoned up against the late September chill in the air. I don't immediatly recognise their face but then, to be fair, I have been away from work for a year. There has almost certainly be an influx of new recruits during that time. As a result I don't really stop to think as I open the door and smile at them in greeting. I suppose I just assumed Sally Donovan might have sent somebody over to check up on me. Looking back now I wish I had acted with more caution. If I had then all of the heartache that came to pass could probably have been avoided. Still once something has happened there is no way to turn back the clock, no matter how hard you wish to do so. "Hey. Can I help..." 

I never get to finish the end of my sentence. Before I can react or cry out the policeman lunges forward and grabs my elbow in a crushing grip. I try to shrug him off but he is alarmingly strong for a human- too strong. Instinctivly I glance behind him, searching for the wings that will mark him out as an Engifted. It's what I'm expecting to find and I am a little shocked when I don't see any. How on earth then did he get to be so strong? Before I can dwell on that particular thought for long however, the policeman pulls a syringe out of his pocket, sticks it into the side of my side and depresses the plunger. And he manages to do all of this within the space of a few seconds. 

It is then I really begin to grasp what it happening but of course, by then, it is already far too late. A feeling of weakness is flooding through me, my knees buckling even as my head starts to swim. I can barely concentrate and when I try to speak I am only able to make a muffled, choking sound. Panic washes through me, along with the chilling realisation that this guy has just drugged me. What I am unable to figure out is why. What have I done to cause this to happen? Not that I can really summon up much logical thought at this point in time because darkness is rapidly closing over my vision. It is still clear enough however for me to notice what I somehow managed to miss when I opened the door in the first place. Behind the policeman, who I am beginning to think isn't really a policeman at all, there is a white van idling by the curb with its back doors thrown open. Shit. 

Desperatly I try to throw myself backwards through the door, perhaps hoping to slam the door shut behind me. Instead all I manage to do is collapse, helpless to do anything as the pavement rising up to meet me. The drug has now worked it's way into my limbs, which hang there like dead weights and refuse to work. It is not a nice feeling to have your own body betray you just when you need it the most. I am vaguely aware of hands grabbing me and then I must momentarily black out because the next thing I'm aware of is lying face down in the back of the van without any idea how I got there. I can only assume the pretend policeman threw me in here. It's a little disconcerting not being able to remember and having nothing but a thick grey fog obscuring your thoughts... With a bang the doors of the van are slammed shut and I am plunged into darkness. 

I know I should probably be out of my mind with panic right there but the drug coursing through my veins is making the world go hazy around the edges. The worst thing about this whole situation is knowing that nobody will have any idea what has happened to me. I will simply disappear without a trace and they'll be left scratching their heads over it. I close my eyes against a wave of despair and gratfully give myself over to the darkness that is trying to drag me down into its embrace. After that there is nothing but blackness and I know no more. 


	2. The Mysterious disappearence of Greg Lestrade- John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are several mentions and allusions in this chapter and subsequent ones to the events of 'Heart of Darkness'. While you don't need to have read it to enjoy 'Broken-hearted' it will simply provide some background for the events and characters that will appear later on in this story.

It all starts as just another normal Saturday morning in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock is conducting an experiment in the kitchen (something chemical based if the smell is anything to go by) while I sit in my favourite armchair and read the paper. The main news story of the day is troubling and I read it with interest. Apparently the Government have decided it's time to have a register when it comes to Engifted with names and powers no longer a secret the general public are unaware of... this can only be a reaction to what happened last year. Many people were terrified by Nightmare and what he could do; throw the Elite Engifted into that mix as well and you begin to have a serious problem. You almost can't blame people for wanting to keep an eye on them. It's going to mean that Sherlock and I will have yet another new thing to adjust to. We're still both getting used to Mycroft no longer with us. Strange to think it has now been a year since his death. 

Thankfully, before I can stray much further down this path I am distracted by the loud shrill ring of the mobile sitting on the table beside me. Irritated I glare down at it. At some point Greg needs to learn to solve a case without our intervention. I was looking forward to a nice quiet morning. "Sherlock! Your phone's going off!" I yell in an attempt to get his attention. I don't have to wait long for a reply. 

"Then go ahead and answer it! I'm at a delicate stage of my experiment and can't..." A muffled explosion cuts off the rest of his sentence. This is closely followed by several loud curses. 

Well that didn't sound too good. Hopefully he hasn't burnt another hole in the floor. With a sigh I reluctantly fold up the paper and reach for the phone. Honestly, I swear I have to do everything around here. "Hello, John Watson speaking. How can I... Oh hey Sally, what's up?" I listen for a moment, growing more and more concerned with every word that Donovan speaks. She doesn't particularly like Sherlock or myself so it must be serious if she's willing to ask for our help. 

From the kitchen there comes the sound of more swearing. I try to ignore it and turn my attention back to the frantic person on the other end of the line. "Slow down Sally and say that again. You want us to check things out because you're too busy to do it. Ok. Fine, that's what we'll do. I'll let you know if we find anything." I say before hanging up and dropping the phone back on the table. Great, once again we are getting called in to sort out somebody else's problem. I suppose I'd better let Sherlock know. Before I can even begin to get up I hear a quiet sound from behind me. With a smile on my face I turn round to find Sherlock watching me from the doorway to the kitchen. 

He looks different than he did a year ago and it isn't just because of the brand new wings gifted to him by Celeste. There is a new haunted look in his grey eyes, an expression I don't think he'll ever be able to loose. Sometimes, when he doesn't think I'm looking, I catch him watching me intently as though he is afraid I am going to disappear. I don't think he ever got over my kidnap and subsequent torture at Nightmare's claws. Admittedly it isn't an easy thing to forget. I still find myself suffering from horrific nightmares so bad it makes me glad I can wake up from them and crawl into bed beside Sherlock. He never seems to mind. 

"Well that little conversation sounded interesting. Does Donovan have a case for us?" Sherlock asks, his grey eyes gleaming. His matching grey wings are spread out enough for me to be able to see the soot dotted amongst the feathers. I want to reach out and brush it away but I know from previous experience exactly where that can lead (normally into a situation that ends with neither of us wearing many clothes). 

Stretching out my arms to ease out the cramp in my shoulder I stand and make my way over to one of the windows, pausing there long enough to watch the people going about their business. Amongst them are several Engifted, which is no longer such an unusual sight in London. Then, with a quiet sigh, I turn my back on the outside world and face Sherlock. "Apparently Greg hasn't turned up for work for the past two days and he isn't answering his phone. Sally wants us to head round to his flat and see if anything's wrong." I explain in a low voice, my eyes fixed on Sherlock the entire time. 

A troubled expression settles over Sherlock's face and for a moment his grey eyes almost seem to turn black. I don't think he'll ever truely be able to turn his back on Thanatos. "What date is it? Because if it's anywhere near the fifth..." His voice trails away to nothing as his wings slump in obvious sadness. Sherlock doesn't often admit his emotions out loud but more often than not his wings give him away. 

Not caring about what might happen I walk over to him and place an arm around his shoulders. The fifth of October was the day of the doomed battle against Nightmare- making it exactly a year today since Mycroft was oh so brutally murdered. Damn. Somehow I had managed to totally forget what today was. "Oh," I breathe in a quiet voice, "Of course. Poor Greg." I shake my head. Sherlock sniffs loudly and buries his head in my shoulder. I reach up to run my fingers through his black curls. "I'm so sorry Sherlock. I don't know how I managed to forget." I murmur even as tears sting my eyes. Right now I feel like the worst friend ever. 

With a quiet rustle a grey wing unfurls and wraps around me. Almost straight away I find myself relaxing as a wave of calm sweeps through me. Normally I don't like Sherlock using his powers on me but on this occasion I do not mind. It actually feels rather nice. 

Sherlock shifts and places a gentle kiss on the top of my head. "It's alright John. Mycroft would be happy to know you're not dwelling on the past and living your life." He says, his voice thick sounding as though he is on the verge of tears. "It's not healthy to be too obsessed with the past." 

I take a deep breath to steady myself. Sherlock's right. Mycroft would hate to think we were still mourning his death a year later. "Are we still going to check on Greg?" I ask, enjoying the warmth of the feathery wing around my shoulder. Sometimes having an Engifted as your boyfriend has its benefits. With a sigh I rest my head against his shoulder and feel a shudder run through Sherlock in response. 

A sad smile settles across Sherlock's face. "Of course we are, you know how close he and Mycroft were?" He says, unfurling his wing from around me and heading over to the door. When he reaches it he turns and watches me for a moment. Since Engifted are now generally accepted by ordinary humans Sherlock no longer feels he needs to hide his wings when he goes out in public. Especially since his feathers aren't black any more. 

Pausing long enough to grab my jacket I walk over to join him. I hope Greg is okay. I remember all too well how it felt when Sherlock went missing and I was so afraid he was dead. It changes you as a person. "Let's go. You'll have to pay for the taxi though. I don't have any money on me at the moment." I go to open the door but Sherlock reaches out to grip my shoulder. My heart sinks slightly. I had so hoped we would be using a more normal form of transport. 

"Who says we're taking a taxi." Sherlock answers with a wink, despite the look of disappointment that is almost certainly obvious on my face. But hey, when has Sherlock ever listened to me? Once he's made a decision there's no stopping him. His wings are already open and humming with power. Even a weak little human like me can feel it when it's this powerful. Sherlock reaches out and hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. "Hang on." He murmurs in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. 

I don't even have time for a word of protest. There is a crackle of energy and Sherlock pulls me forward into darkness. Seconds later I find myself stumbling forward onto soft carpet that is brown instead of blue. Feeling a little shaky I sink to my knees, taking deep breaths to try and calm my upset stomach. It takes quite an effort not to throw up, something I don't think Greg would appreciate... Actually now I think about it, where is Greg? 

By now he should be here demanding what we're doing in this home. I'm a little surprised he hasn't turned up yet. Slowly I get to my feet, my sickness forgotten about "Hello? Greg. Are you here?" I call, thinking, perhaps, he might still be asleep. The thought disappears when I see the look on Sherlock's face. "What?" I ask him. "What is it?" 

At first Sherlock doesn't reply, instead pacing around the living room with a thoughtful expression on his face. After a few more minutes he stops and reaches to pick something up off the sofa. When he holds it up I can clearly see it's a phone. "Greg didn't take his phone and his coat is still hanging over the back of that chair over there. And look at the mess- don't you think it looks like somebody was searching for something?" He says, looking over at me with the familiar expression he always wears when he's deep in a deduction. When I look confused Sherlock rolls his eyes in obvious irritation. "Even for Greg the level of mess is ridiculous. It's obvious there's no way he could have done this." 

Obvious to him maybe. Personally I am unable to see anything out of the ordinary. Not that I'm about to start questioning Sherlock's judgement. By now I've learnt to trust him and the deductions he makes. We've gone through too much together for me to doubt him. "What do you think they were looking for?" 

Sherlock shakes his head and walks over to the door leading to the kitchen. "I don't know John, I can't see into the past can I? Take a look around and see what you can find." He calls back over his shoulder as he disappears from view. 

I head in the opposite direction and end up in what appears to be a study/ office area. It's a surprisingly cluttered little room and paper is strewn across the surface of the desk. One piece in particular however catches my eye. It is half hidden beneath an empty brown folder and has a pearlescent sheen to it of the sort I would associate with very expensive invitations. Which, when I pick it up for a closer look, is exactly what it appears to be. The paper has actual weight to it and the lettering consists of a delicate calligraphy that is almost too ornate to read. It takes several minutes of staring before I can decipher it fully and read the words printed across it. 

_Dwight White invites you to the unveiling of the Regeneration Program and an evening of entertaining scientific talks. A three course dinner and drinks will be provided by White Knight Incorporated. No need to R.S.V.P. Just turn up at half eight at the White Knight facility on the outskirts of London. Black tie is, of course, required._

Below this there is a curling signature and the logo of a knight atop a rearing horse clad in armour, both of which I swear I have come across before. What I can't figure out is why an invitation such as this would be sent to Greg. As far as I know he has never shown an interest in anything remotely based in science. It doesn't give much insight into where Greg might have gone but I'm sure Sherlock will be interested to see it. 

Keeping hold of the invitation I quickly search the rest of the office. Apparently there is nothing else of interest to find and, feeling more than a little disheartened, I head back into the living room. With a sigh I collapse down onto the nearest sofa and wait for Sherlock to finish his search. Maybe he'll have better luck than I did. He's been doing this longer than I have after all. In the end it is another fifteen minutes before he joins me. 

There is a troubled expression on his face and I quickly realise that, like me, he hasn't really been able to find anything of use. I glance down at the invitation. Looks like this is now our best chance of finding a lead on Greg's current whereabouts. "So," Sherlock asks, leaning against the door frame so he can face me, "find anything interesting? I only found more signs to indicate he hasn't been back home for a couple of days." If there is one thing Sherlock hates, it's a mystery he can't solve. I've seen him get obsessed with cases similar to this. 

Even though it's totally inappropriate I find myself feeling smug at the fact that I've found something and Sherlock hasn't. It's not something I often get to boast about. I have to admit that I rather like the feeling. He must notice the emotion on my face because he frowns at me intently, obviously trying to figure out what I know that he doesn't. I let this carry on for a few more seconds and then hold up the invitation. 

There is an eagerness in his eyes as Sherlock reaches out to take it and I can practically hear the gears of his brain whirring while he begins making his deductions about the rather extravagant invitation. "Good quality paper, the best money can buy in fact. Ornate calligraphy...can't say I've heard of this Dwight White though." He pauses, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face. "Wait. Actually it does sound familiar. Don't White Knight enterprises produce medication? I think some of my sleeping pills were made by them." 

The sleeping pills are not something we often talk about. He still doesn't like me for suggesting he get him. It doesn't seem worth mentioning that he hasn't suffered from a migraine for weeks. There is still something I don't understand about this whole thing. "But why was Greg sent an invitation?" I ask, running my hand through my hair and letting out a sigh. So far none of this makes any sense. 

In answer Sherlock shakes his head and my heart sinks. It not often the great detective admits to be being confused or in the dark during a case. I'm just sad it had to be one regarding the disappearance of one of our closest friends. I look towards him hopefully when Sherlock begins to speak but I am quickly disappointed. He really doesn't have a clue what to do and I am beginning to strongly suspect he is grasping at straws. 

"Why don't we go along to this unveiling and find out what it's about? Who knows, maybe we'll even bump into Greg there." Sherlock says in a quiet voice, not sounding all that convinced by the plan he is suggesting. Well if he has no idea then I certainly don't stand a chance. 

Still, I suppose, it's better than nothing. I let out a sigh, leaning forward in the chair in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. "Fine, that's what we'll do. I'll let Donovan know what's going on and see what she says. Who knows, maybe she'll have her own resources to offer." Or at least this is what I'm hoping will happen. Because of Sherlock's attitude towards her in the past Sally doesn't have much love for the two of us. In reality she'll probably try and shut us out of the entire case if she can get away with it. 

Indeed Sherlock doesn't look overly pleased with this suggestion but somehow manages to give me a nod of acknowledgement. It just goes to show how much he really cares about Greg. Still I work quickly before he can change his mind. 

Grabbing my phone from my pocket I dial the number and extension for Donovan' s office. It is several tense seconds before she picks up and I am just beginning to fear she will ignore us after all when I hear her voice on the other end of the line. Before she can launch into whatever speech she has prepared I cut her off by quickly explaining what is going on, and what we have found out. She listens intently, agrees we should check this Dwight White character before claiming to be rushed off her feet and could we call her back later. Then she hangs up on me. 

Muttering beneath my breath about the sheer rudeness of some people I stand make my way over to Sherlock. He gives me a tired looking glance and then turns his attention back to the empty flat. He doesn't even look round when I clear my throat. I try again, a little louder this time. "So, what do we do now?" I ask, hoping he will at least have the answer to this. I am in desperate need of something going our way today. 

Sherlock shifts, tucking his wings tightly against his back, and reaches out to lightly touch my shoulder. An electric shiver runs through me in response. "If we're going to this dinner we will need suitable attire. The invitation did say it was black tie after all. I propose returning to the flat and seeing what we have." Despite the lightness in his voice, there is obvious tension in the skin around his eyes. Though he isn't showing it I know he is just as concerned about Greg as I am. 

Since there is nothing else we can do at the moment, Sherlock's suggestion seems sensible. At least it'll take our minds off worrying for a couple of hours or so. All the two of us can do is hope that, wherever Greg is, he is ok and not in any distress. I don't think Sherlock and I could forgive ourselves if he was suffering... 


	3. The first cut is the deepest- Lestrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mild torture and descriptions of pain. Read at your own discretion.

Intense, almost agonising pain crackles through my limbs, which jerk and twitch as the powerful electrical current courses through them. I clench my teeth, trying desperately to hold in a scream. It's what these sadistical bastards are waiting for; signs that I am finally beginning to break. I am determined not to give them the satisfaction. 

The pain rapidly decreases until it is nothing but a dull ache throbbing in my muscles. Grateful for the respite I gasp for breath. "I told you. I don't know anything about this 'Regeneration Program'! I literally only know what was written in Mycroft's notes." I once again tell the man sitting in the chair before the controls of the electronic torture device, knowing full well that he isn't going to listen. Just like the last three times I said the exact same thing. I'm starting to think this guy just enjoys inflicting pain on people. "I don't know anything!" I plead, a little ashamed with myself for finally showing a crack in my armour. I don't know how much more of that pain I can take. 

The man's grey, oddly emotionless eyes narrow slightly. "But how can I be sure of that? I only have your word for it after all." He says, inspecting his fingernails as though he is growing bored. "Anyway, that isn't even why you are here Mr Lestrade. A slow grin spreads across his face and I feel a flicker of fear in response. "You see, there's a certain Engifted I want to get my hands on. One, whom I believe, you are close friends with." 

The fear in my veins is quickly replaced by a burning anger of surprising intensity. "Don't you dare even think about laying a finger on Sherlock Holmes! I swear that if you do I'll-" Unable to think of anything creative enough I quietly curse myself for my loss of control. Now this guy will know exactly how much Sherlock means to me. I flinch, expecting at any moment to be assaulted with more pain. 

Instead he begins to laugh, a high, chilling sound that sets my teeth on edge. "You have courage Mr Lestrade and a good, strong heart," he pauses long enough to pick up a syringe from beside the torture device. It glows with a rainbow light that is unlike anything I have ever seen before. "You're going to need both those things if you want to get through this." 

I try to struggle but the straps holding me to the chair are too tight. I try to calm down, to stop panicking but by now it's almost impossible. Right now I wish I were anywhere but here. "What is that? What are you doing?" I cry, my voice shaking uncontrollably. A violent shaking begins and there is nothing I can do to control it. Please, please let help arrive or something else that will distract him! I don't think I can face whatever is going to happen next. 

Of course nothing happens. With horrible, and almost deliberate slowness the guy slides the needle into my neck and depresses the plunger. I tense almost immediately, expecting something to begin hurting. The seconds stretch out however and nothing happens. Can this have been an elaborate trick to scare me? Seconds later this theory is most definitely proved wrong. 

It starts as a faint burning sensation crawling beneath my skin. It's unpleasant enough to make me want to scratch at my arms to try and relieve it. The burning grows worse, rapidly becoming unbearable until I am physically squirming in my chair. Then the sensation changes and instead becomes a horrible pressure that radiates across my shoulder blades. I grit my teeth against a scream. It feels as though something is trying to force its way out from beneath the skin. What the hell is happening to me?! 

The guy watches me with something close to fascination, his eyes gleaming with a fanatic light. Obviously to him this is some sort of twisted scientific experiment. And then, just when I think it can't get any worse, the pain increases to an unbearable intensity where it feels as though red hot coals have been poured into every inch of my body. This time I don't even bother to keep my scream at bay. I know then I have reached the end of my tolerance. 

From somewhere close by I hear a laugh and want to curse at him for enjoying this so much. I can't however because another scream forces it's way out of my mouth. Eventually, after what could be minutes or hours (I have long since lost track of time in my haze of pain) I find myself slipping down into darkness. It's just a shame the pain follows. 


	4. A disaster of a party- John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry about the long gap where I didn't write. I've been busy at university and I was getting ready for Nanowrimo. Wish me luck! :)
> 
> This is turning into a surprisingly long chapter. It looked shorter on paper.

Dressed to impress in suit and tie (oddly enough the black goes rather well with his new grey wings) Sherlock and I hail a cab on the street outside and set off for the headquarters of White Knight Enterprises, the foremost distributor and manufacturer of new medication in the UK. Though he hasn't actually come right out and said it I get the feeling Sherlock is worried about tonight. Which is perfectly understandable really. We are after all walking into a place we don't know with no idea of what we might be going to face.... Now I start to really think about it, the entire plan sounds highly foolish. We didn't even have time to do the usual background research of the place, something Sherlock usually insists upon. 

As the taxi pulls away from the curb I take Sherlock's hand and squeeze it tightly, lightly running the tips of my fingers across his palm as I do so. I don't know who it is supposed to reassure. Sherlock lets out a sigh and stares out of the window at the buildings flashing by the window as the taxi accelerates around the corner and leaves Baker Street behind. At times like this I wish I could read minds because in the taxi' s dull interior his face, and the expression upon it, is half hidden by shadow. I try to read it but quickly give it up as a bad job. Whatever Sherlock is thinking I'll have to wait until he's ready to share it. 

Releasing his hand I lean back in my seat and go over the meagre plan we manage to come with in the few hours that we had between leaving Lestrade's and getting into this taxi. It really isn't all that much and, basically, involves us blagging our way inside the event so we can question people about the Regeneration Project, that seems like it might be the key to Lestrade's disappearance. It's a shaky plan at best but luckily we won't be going in entirely unprepared. 

Despite Sherlock's protests I ended up asking Donovan to back us up. She had said yes almost straight away. Unfortunately until we actually find anything however she and her team will be forced to wait outside due to a lack of evidence. Apparently you can't gate crash private parties unless you have a warrant. Which means that Sherlock and I was technically on our own. 

I take a deep breath. "Are we mad to do this?" I ask, staring down at the highly polished shoes Sherlock made me wear. I have never felt overly comfortable in a suit. Though I can't pinpoint exactly why I feel this way, I have a horrible feeling something is going to go wrong. Which is ridiculous really, because there is no reason for me to think that. Aside from Lestrade's disappearance nothing out of the ordinary has happened... Despite all my attempts to reassure myself I am still unable to shake my sense of foreboding. 

Slowly Sherlock turns away from the window and faces me. For a moment I swear I see sadness flash across his face but it is too fast for me to be certain. Maybe, just maybe he feels the same way that I do. "It's only dinner and a presentation, John. What on earth do you thinks going to go wrong?" He asks before falling silent once again, a sure sign he's feeling on edge. Sherlock his normally much more talkative at the start of a brand new case. 

He does have a good point. I honestly have no idea what I'm so worried about. It would probably be better if I just dropped the whole thing. Instead I should try and enjoy the free dinner we are attending. Who knows it might even turn out to be a good evening. 

I wait for Sherlock to go back to staring out of the window and then close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. I concentrate on breathing steadily, trying to make myself relax and ease some of the tension beginning to make my shoulders ache. It has some limited success and, when I open my eyes again it is to find we have left the centre of London behind us. I don't know where the facility is exactly in relation to the city, but I do know that it is somewhere on the outskirts. By the looks of it we should be nearly there. And sure enough, seconds later, the taxi brakes to a slow stop. 

"Lots of people out here tonight." The taxi driver observes to no particular purpose. When neither Sherlock or I reply he shrugs and waits to get paid, which Sherlock does once he has helped me from the back of the taxi. Without another word it drives off, leaving us before the opposing building with no choice but to go in. 

Considering the surrounding crumbling brick buildings, White Knight Enterprises is surprisingly modern looking with its shiny black glass and twisting metal. It looks like somebody stole a building from the banking district but only got this far before they grew tired of dragging it. I was kind of expecting to see a factory of some description or at least something that hints at a manufacturing firm. I glance sideways at Sherlock to find him regarding the facility with a thoughtful expression. He obviously must be thinking the same thing. 

Directly in front of us a pair of opaque glass doors have been thrown open wide to allow people to enter the reception area that can just be glimpsed beyond them. There is already a sizeable queue forming, even though Sherlock and I are actually half an hour early. Evidently this must be quite the event if there's already so many people. Dwight White, the owner of the facility, must be popular amongst scientific circles. I feel a twinge of unease. What have we gotten ourselves into? 

All of the people here look perfectly comfortable in their expensive looking tuxedos and well cut dresses, and I suddenly feel under-dressed for what is obviously an extremely grand occasion. Taking a deep breath I reach up to straighten my bowtie. Before I can however Sherlock does it himself, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose. A light blush heats my cheeks. 

"Sherlock. People can see us." I protest, hiding my face behind my hands. Our relationship is so new, barely more than a year, I have still getting used to being a couple out in public. No one really notices us however and those who do merely give us a small smile as they walk round us and head towards the end of the queue. The most interested of the glances are directed at Sherlock's wings and I can't help but notice he is the only Engifted present in the entire crowd. Once again I feel a slight shiver of unease. Something isn't right and I really wish I knew what it was. 

"They're just admiring how handsome you look in a suit." Sherlock says, his deep voice tinged with amusement, "you should wear one more often." 

This of course only make me blush all the harder. Sherlock laughs, links his arm with mine and pulls me gently over towards the entrance where the queue is moving slowly but steadily. I want to come up with a snappy reply, something that will make Sherlock laugh, but I find myself unable to come up with anything when I see the look in Sherlock's blue eyes. It is somewhere between amusement and desire, and it sends a shiver running down my spine.... No. Pull it together John. You're here to investigate the disappearance of a close friend. No thinking of what that look might lead to once we get back home. 

Thankfully the queue goes down quickly and before too long we are standing in front of the security guards and the electronic barriers behind them. I tense, expecting them to somehow sense we shouldn't be here. That we actually have no business attending such a posh event. Thankfully all they do is give our invitation a cursorary glace before waving us through the barriers, which, because we are carrying nothing metal, don't go off. As we walk away I breathe a sigh of relief. Well, that was easier than I thought it was going to be. 

"The invitation did just say to turn up." Sherlock murmurs in my ear before he turns his attention to the people milling around in the reception area. Directly in front of us are a set of ornate stairs leading up to what appears to be some sort of hall. Sherlock and I join the tide of people flowing up them. 

At the top Sherlock drops my arm and grabs two flutes of champagne off a passing tray. "We should probably split up. We can cover more ground that way." He says before lightly kissing me on the cheek. "Be careful. We have no idea what this project is." He murmurs, his voice too soft for the people around us to hear. Then he turns and walks off into the rapidly growing crowd. It doesn't take long for him to disappear from sight. 

Almost immediately I feel on edge being separated from Sherlock in a strange place. Though no one has as yet freaked out about having an Engifted in their midst, I can guarantee that it's only a matter of time. Since the events of last year the general public have been more suspicious and less excepting of their kind. I know there's even rumours of the Government putting some form of law in place... 

But those are thoughts for another time and place. Pushing them to one side I instead concentrate on the people moving slowly around the vast hall, all of them appearing to be perfectly friendly with one another. Once more I find myself feeling more than a little out of place. I'll give it an hour at most. That's plenty long enough to find out about this Regeneration Project and how it could possibly link to Lestrade's disappearance. Ten minutes later I am approached by a man in a white lab coat. 

"Hi, you're looking a little lost. Are you here for the unveiling of the Regeneration Project?" He asks, peering up at me with watery green eyes. His skin is almost totally colourless, giving him the appearance of a small, underground creature who has never seen the sun. It's more than a little unsettling. Before I can reply to his question however he carries on talking. "If you'd care to come this way I can give you a tour of our facility." He gestures towards a nearby door. Odd how nobody else is being offered this backstage access. 

At the same time I realise Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. I mean sure there's a lot of people but I should at least be able to spot his wings. My feeling of unease spikes. Okay, this definitely feels fishy to me. "I brought a friend with me. We should wait for him to join us or he'll get worried." I say, aware I'm babbling but unable to stop it. Somehow I need to stall for time. 

Before I can protest or even think about walking away, the scientist seizes my arm in a surprisingly tight grip considering his rather skinny stature. His face, open and friendly when he initially greeted me, is now cold. Alarm courses through me. Apparently my unease was justified- something was going in this facility. The man leans in close enough so the surrounding guests can't hear him,and hisses in my ear, "Don't worry, Mr Watson. Sherlock Holmes will be joining you shortly. We've been waiting for the two of you to turn up." He tugs me towards the door and I go willingly, too stunned to do anything. 

Somehow, god only knows how, these people knew we were coming! All of a sudden I feel foolish on not insisting on bringing backup in with us. Yes I know Donovan can't technically enter without a solid reason but at least we wouldn't have been so defenceless. It's a decision I think is going to backfire badly on us. Then from the other side of the room I hear a sound that makes my heart stop. 

"Sherlock!" I pull against the man holding onto my arm but he only lets out a growl and yanks me roughly forward, pulling me off balance. Anger rises within in response and for a moment I am aware of my old army training bubbling to the surface. All I can think about is that Sherlock is in trouble and this man is stopping me from reaching him. "Let me go or I swear to god I'll-" The rest of my sentence is cut off by a sharp blow to the side of the head. The world performs a slow loop and pain shoots across my forehead. 

"Shut up! I don't need you making a scene and upsetting the guests. All Dwight wants is to talk to you, and that's it. There's no need for this." The scientist says in a low voice that is heavy with the promise of more violence. At the same time he smiles at a small group of guests who are glancing over in our direction with curious expressions. "I really don't want to have to hurt you, Mr Watson." 

I could break away from him easily but I'm getting the feeling that would be an extremely idea. Also we still need information and this could be a good way for us to get it- a little extreme sure but it's the only option currently open to us. With a sigh I hope sounds resigned I force myself to go limp. "Ok. I'll go with you. But you have to promise me that Sherlock won't be harmed." I say, hoping he will listen to me. It is a hope that is horribly short lived. 

From the corner of my eye I notice a flash of grey. Curious, I turn in its direction and the sight that greets my eyes sends ice oozing through my veins. Sherlock is pinned beneath at least four people, one of his wings twisted beneath him, and is desperately trying to fight them off. It is obvious however that he is losing. As though sensing my gaze he turns and looks me directly in the eye. The hopelessness I see in his expression sends terror spiking through me as I realise how truely out of our depth we are. I'm suddenly not so sure we'll be getting out of this in one piece. 

That is the last glimpse I get of Sherlock. Muttering quietly beneath his breath the scientist holding me prisoner shoves me through the door he pointed out earlier, and into the corridor beyond. The sound of the door slamming shut behind me has a horrible finality to it... I really need to try and shake these negative thoughts. They probably aren't healthy. 

Without even letting me regain my balance the scientist begins to drag me down the featureless white expanse of the corridor. It reminds me a little of certain parts of St Bartholomew's (which isn't a very comforting thought now I come to think about it). Angry at myself I shove the thoughts to one side and focus instead on my surroundings. The scientist seems to know exactly where he is going as he leads me down corridor after identical corridor. God knows how anyone makes their way around this place where everything looks the same. I'm already hopelessly lost. Hopefully I'll have a guide on the way out as well... assuming I actually get to leave. Which isn't an overly reassuring thought. 

Without warning I am yanked to a sudden stop in front of a nondescript wooden door. I stagger sideways and glare at the scientist, but he doesn't seem to notice. He is too busy staring at the metal plaque set into the very centre of the door. He mutters something inaudible and reaches out to knock once upon it. It is barely even half a second before a voice calls out for us to enter. 

The scientist pushes me roughly forward, opening the door as he does so. "Good luck. You're probably going to need it." He says quietly before he hurries off around the corner. I stare after him. What on earth had that been about? 

Taking a deep breath to steady myself I walk into the room. My steps falter a little when I see what is in from of me. It looks for all the world like a typical doctor's examination room of the sort you'd expect to find in any GP surgery all over England. I have to admit that this isn't what I was expecting. There's even the obligatory medical books arranged neatly on a shelf in alphabetical order. But this is far from the most interesting thing about the room. No. Rather than the posters, the cluttered desk or the examination table, I find myself fascinated by the person sitting behind the desk. When he notices me watching him a cold smile spreads across his face. 

He is unlike anybody I have ever seen and looks more like a walking skeleton than a human being. He is un-naturally tall and thin and his skin is so white it actually looks as though it has been doused with bleach. And these aren't even his most un-merging features. No, the worst thing about him is his eyes. They are almost entirely colourless and seem to have a spark of cruelty constantly shining within them. I actually flinch slightly when he stretches out a hand and gestures to the chair on the other side of the desk. 

"Won't you take a seat, Mr Watson? There is much we need to discuss." He says. His voice is high and possesses the cutting ability of a knife. 

Feeling more than a little nervous by this point (god only knows what this guy wants after all) I sit down and force myself to look Dwight in the eye. It takes some effort of will but I somehow manage it. "What is there to discuss exactly?" I ask, crossing my arms so I can hide how much my hands are shaking. "Until earlier Sherlock and I weren't even planning to come here." 

Dwight leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. "I've wanted to meet the two of you for a while. A human and an Engifted existing peacefully...why it's incredible!" He says without actually answering my question. "Now shall we get down to business? I've brought you here Mr Watson to offer you a fantastic opportunity. An opportunity not being offered to many people, to become the person you used to be." He pauses long enough to give me a grin that wouldn't look out of place on a shark before he continues talking. "Now I believe you were invalided out of the army due to an injury..." 

I sit up a little straighter upon hearing this. Dwight seems to know rather a lot about me and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with it. Even in our modern day world of the internet and googling there should still be some degree of privacy. A shiver runs through me. It makes me wonder what else he might know. "I was but I don't see how that's any of your business." I tell him in reply, crossing my arms and fixing him with a glare. 

Dwight slowly shakes his head. "It is my business, Mr Watson, because I can make sure nothing like that happens to you ever again." He says, his grey eyes studying me intently. "I can personally guarantee to make you into a better person, a better human. Don't tell me that doesn't at least interest you." He sounds a little incredulous as he says this. Obviously no one has ever turned the offer down before. "All it takes is a series of injections." Reaching down into an out of sight drawer he pulls out a small tray and lays it down in front of me. On the tray are four syringes filled with a glowing silvery substance that puts me in mind of the glow around Sherlock when he is using his powers. 

I eye the syringe with mistrust. "What is it? The stuff in the syringe I mean." 

There is a low chuckle from Dwight. "Come now, Mr Watson. I am hardly going to give away my secrets am I? Now why don't me talk more about you?" He steeples his fingers together and rests his chin on them, looking for all the world like he listening intently to me. His eyes give him away however. They keep flicking towards the door as though waiting for someone to walk through it. 

I don't think I want to talk to him anymore. All I want now is to be reunited with Sherlock and to get out of here. My feeling of unease has only grown worse since being in this room. "I would like to leave now if its all the same to you. Just tell me where I can find Sherlock and we'll get out of your hair." I say as I stand up, glancing over my shoulder towards the door. No sign of guards but then they could be on the other side. 

Then, from behind me, there comes a sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. A high pitched and delighted laugh from Dwight. I swallow hard. Well that can't mean anything good. Slowly I turn back to face him. "What is it that's so funny to you?" I demand, a little afraid of what the answer might be. 

Dwight ignores me however and picks the telephone up in order to issue a series of instructions to the person on the other end of the line. "Send down a couple of guards to escort John to extraction room six. There's some old friends there he wants to be reunited with. Oh, and make the camera's are switched on. This will be amusing to watch." 

It takes every ounce of will I have not to take a swing at him and the obvious mistreatment he has exposed Sherlock to... wait. He said friends, as in plural. An icy weight settles in my stomach. "I swear to god if you've hurt Sherlock or Lestrade, I'll kill you." I say through gritted teeth, my voice shaking with barely suppressed anger. 

"If I've hurt them? Oh dear. I'm afraid it's a bit too late for that." Dwight says, a nasty grin spreading across his face. 

It's the smug expression on his face that does it. With a cry of anger I throw myself across the room, intending to break Dwight' s nose for the harm he has so obviously caused my friends. He is still holding the syringe filled with that strange silvery substance, a substance I now suspect belonged to Sherlock. I don't want to think too closely however about what it could be. The answer can't be anything good. 

Before I can reach Dwight the door behind me is thrown open with a crash and I hear thundering footsteps storming towards me. I let out a growl of frustration, knowing I am about to be dragged backward away from him. Sure enough, seconds later, two guards grab hold of me with practised ease and haul me bodily backwards. I fight them every step of the way and am still struggling when one of them punches the side of my head. Sparks fill my vision and blood fills my mouth from where I bit my tongue. Unresisting I allow myself to be dragged from the room and along the corridor outside. I knew we should have brought back-up with us. 

* * * * 

Dazed and disoriented I am barely aware of my surroundings or how long I am dragged down identical white corridors. I can barely think past the roiling nausea in my stomach and I have to swallow hard to stop myself actually throwing up. Somehow I need to keep a hold of something. To distract myself I try to come up with an escape plan but give up after a few moments when nothing comes to me. My head simply hurts too much and the situation we're in is too impossible. Besides there's no way I can even contemplate leaving without knowing where Sherlock is. 

Seconds later I am pulled to a stop, but before I can look around or take stock of my surroundings I am forcibly shoved through another door. With a cry I stumble forward, barely managing to keep my balance. Swearing loudly I round on the guards in time for the door to be slammed firmly in my face. Breathing heavily I stand there for a moment before turning to take a look at where I am. I freeze when I see who is in front of me. 

"John! Oh God, you're here as well?" Greg says, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "How did Dwight get to you?" He lets out a heavy sigh when I remain silent and continued to stare at him in utter shock, my brain refusing to process what is before my very eyes. There is no way this can be possible. Surely this can't actually be happening! 

Greg shakes his head, a bemused expression on his face. "Yeah I know. You don't need to point them out to me. I'm still just as shocked as you are." He says, his voice shaking slightly as though he is barely in control. Which is probably the truth considering the pair of rainbow feathered wings that appear to be growing out of his back. He definitely didn't have those last time I saw him. 

I swallow hard, fighting the powerful urge to faint, and somehow manage to succeed in forcing it back down. I'll panic later when we're not in so much danger. Greg doesn't move from where he is slumped against the wall, and when I look a little closer the reason for this becomes clear. Not only is he incredibly pale but he is also sporting an impressive selection of bruises across his face (which might help to explain the slightly unfocused look in his eyes). 

"What the hell happened to you? We were so worried when you went missing. Even Sally wanted to know what had happened." I say as I kneel down beside him and instinctively check his pulse, an old habit left over from my days as an army medic. Thankfully, aside from the wings he now seems to have, he appears to be unharmed (relatively speaking of course because obviously I can't see any mental damage that might have been done). 

Greg lets out a groan. "Dwight injected me with something, something that apparently turned me into an Engifted... Which is impossible because no one in my family carries the gene..." His voice trails away when the door to the room opens once again to allow a group of people to enter. I manoeuvre myself in front of Greg, intending to protect him should these people try anything. I quickly realise however that they aren't here for Greg. Three of the people are obviously scientists in their white coats, while the fourth- oh God. The fourth person sends me leaping to my feet with a strangled cry. 

"Sherlock!" I go to rush to his side but the scientists stop me with a glare that clearly says this is a move I'll come to regret. Reluctantly I remain by Greg, and can only watch as the two people holding Sherlock allow him to slump to the floor when they let go. My heart skips a little when he makes no move to save himself. What on earth have they done to him? Gnawing at my lip I force myself to wait until they have left the room and the lock has clicked shut behind them. Then, and only then, do I let myself rush to his side. 

Please, please. Let him be ok. He doesn't react when I lay a gentle hand on his cheek and I feel a thrill of fear at how cold his skin is to the touch. The average person never gets this freezing and pale during their lifetime. My breath catching in my throat, I touch two fingers to the side of his neck in search of a pulse. At first I am unable to feel anything and panic quickly begins to set in. 

Wait. Why would they bring him here if he were dead? With this thought in mind I search again for a pulse and this time, to my great relief, I find one. It's faint but steady, something for which I am incredibly grateful right now. I breath out a sigh and sit back on my heels. All I need to do now is work what exactly they did to him. Swallowing hard back the lump in my throat I rest a hand on his chest. "Sherlock. Oh my love." I murmur as I carefully inspect him for any obvious wounds. However aside from a small puncture wound in the crook of his elbow and a few missing feathers there is nothing to explain the state he's in. 

Behind me Greg clears his throat. "Is he alright?" He asks, his voice sounding a little shaky. "He looks kinda pale." I can practically hear the hesitation in his voice before he continues speaking. "John, you did bring back-up with you, right?" 

Unable to reply I simply remain silent, hoping Greg will understand the implication of what I'm not saying. Thankfully after everything he has been through with us he easily picks up on it. He lets out a quiet groan. "Well, that's just brilliant." He crys with real venom in his voice. 

I wish there was something I could say or do to make it all better. I wish I could reassure Greg that I have a plan that will be put into action if Sherlock and I don't return. In reality Sally will probably hang around for a few hours and then head back to Scotland Yard, assuming we are having a good time at the dinner. If only she knew... 

Shaking my head and, not wanting Greg to see the tears stinging my eyes, I stare down at Sherlock's face. This had been a colossaly stupid decision from the very beginning. Even more so when you consider we managed to walk straight into a trap. The tears spill over and I bite my lip to stop a sob from escaping as I truely begin to realise just how much shit are in right now. Sherlock is unconscious, Greg is apparently now an Engifted and I can see no way out. God only know what we are going to do now... 


	5. A voice in the night- Chronos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dragons and angels promised in the tag finally appear, though it's only one dragon who isn't at all like your typical firebreathing creatures and one angel who most definitely has an attitude problem. A familiar face also crops up...but that's all I can say without risking spoilers. 
> 
> Please enjoy the latest instalment of 'Broken-hearted'.

Chronos was minding his own business, enjoying a cup of tea in a little cafe he liked, when he saw a possible future that sent him tumbling sideways off his chair with a crash. Despite the noise (and the sight of a well dressed business man falling to the floor) nobody present rushed to helped him. The baristas were used to the disguised Elite Engifted doing odd things and simply put it down as part of a particularly quirky personality. Still even they noticed there was something different about this time. 

Usually Chronos dusted himself off afterwards and laughed about how accident prone he was. This time however he remained sprawled on the floor, his golden eyes still focused on something that only he could see. Then, after a few more seconds had passed, Chronos swore loudly and leaped to his feet. He needed to tell the other Elite's about this! 

At the same time he needed to figure out how this possible future had stayed hidden from him up to now. Considering how important it could be to the continued existence of the world, he simply couldn't believe he hadn't spotted it sooner. So much for being forewarned about potentially world ending events! The other's were never going to let him live this down. 

Chronos flashed the barista behind the counter an apologetic smile at having split coffee all over the floor. Though the barista rolled their eyes a little they didn't seem too annoyed about the mess. One of the many useful things about being a regular- that and no longer having a need to hide his wings when he was here. The humans working here seemed to have no idea who he really was. Chronos intended to keep it that way. It was rare he was able to be himself outside of the Inbetween. 

Taking a deep breath Chronos half spread his wings and took a single step forward. Instantly the coffee shop melted away and was replaced by the rainbow, star studded sky of Inbetween; the place the Elite Engifted called home when not solving problems and dealing with horrifically powerfully Engifted like Nightmare. To a human eye Inbetween would appear to be a featureless plain of swirling nothingness. In reality it was a stunning place where all the elements could live in harmony with one another. 

Already Chronos was feeling more relaxed. There was just something about Inbetween that made you temporarily forgot your problems. He breathed in deeply. Unfortunately he didn't have time for such lapses in memory. He needed to alert the others to the danger he had seen. 

Turning slowly on his heel he searched for any sign of the other Elite, quickly giving it up as a bad job. Of course they weren't around when he so desperately needed to talk to them. Chronos let out an irritated sigh. Great. Now he was going to have to send out a summons and there was no guarantee any of them would actually listen to it. Thankfully, on this occasion, they did and within minutes of sending the single the other Elite were arranged in a circle around Chronos. 

Chronos bowed deeply to each of them in turn, making sure to bow especially low when he came to Celeste, unofficial leader of the Elite Engifted and blessed with powers of life and creation. A beautific smile spread across her elegant features and her delicate, almost insubstantial wings glowed with a gentle rainbow light. More than one human had found themselves falling for her beauty. 

"Greetings Chronos, it's been a while since you last summoned us so." She said, her voice just as musical as ever. It was tinged with worry however this time because she knew all to well what such a summons could mean. Something was very, very wrong with the world. "What's wrong Chronos? What have you seen in the future?" 

Around her Zephyr, Mariner and the new incarnation of Thanatos leant in a little closer, all of them eager to hear what Chronos had to say. Each of the Elite wore an identical expression of concern on their face. 

Chronos was silent for a moment while he once more went over the future he had caught so brief a glimpse of. In its rawest state a future wouldn't make any sense to someone not skilled in reading them. What Chronos basically needed to do was translate the information into a more easily understood form before he passed it on to them. Finally he decided to try and stick to the very basics. There was no way even an ordinary Engifted would be unable to understand what he was about to say. "Sherlock Holmes and his friends are in trouble-" 

That was as far as he got however because he received the first interruption. "Seriously?" Zephyr demanded incredulously, "Again? But we only just saved him last year. He can't already be in trouble again!" He shook his head and glanced at the others for confirmation that they felt the same way. He winced when he noticed the glare Thanatos was giving him. "Sorry mate. I know that he's your brother and all but even you have to agree that..." His voice trailed away to nothing beneath Thanatos's fierce expression. Maybe it would be best if he changed the subject. "So, Chronos. Why don't you tell us exactly what you saw?" 

Chronos raised his eyebrows at this, his expression clearly saying that that was what he had been trying to do before he was so rudely interrupted. He didn't say anything however and only hoped that nobody else would interrupt him. He took a deep breath as he brought the future to mind once again. The further one travelled from the moment of a vision, the less clear it became. Already the apocalyptic future didn't seem quite so urgent as it did before. 

Clearing his throat Chronos began to speak. "I saw a future of chaos and destruction where Engifted and humans were at war with one another. I saw the city of London burning beneath the claws of an ancient, and extremely angry, creature with wings of fire," Here he paused for a moment to allow this to sink in, recognising the shock expressions on the faces of his fellow Elite. Finally he continued, "And finally I saw a place where Engifted were having their power extracted... Though I never actually saw the purpose behind it. It can not mean anything good however." 

Chronos barely managed to finish talking before the Elite's all began to talk at once, with each of them trying to make themself heard above all the others. It made for utter chaos because even Celeste, usually the one who kept the peace, was adding her voice in with the rest. Like the others she could hardly believe what she was hearing. 

"That can not actually be possible, right? Such a thing shouldn't even be able to happen!" Celeste cried, her musical voice tinged with an undertone of shock. "Who would dare to hurt Engifted in such a way?" 

Realizing this was rapidly getting out of control Chronos tried and failed to get the other Elite's attention. He allowed a few more minutes to pass before flinging out his arms and sending out a pulse of power that made those around him stagger. Well if that didn't get their attention then nothing would. Celeste was the first to turn round and face him. Chronos bowed in silent apology and Celeste dipped her head slightly in return. "Chronos is right. This is getting us nowhere." She said with a glance round at the others. 

"And it's wasting time." Thanatos interjected. "Time in which we could be helping Sherlock. I don't want him to get because we're too busy arguing to decide what to do. He's already been hurt enough." 

Wanting to have her say before Zephyr could go off on one Mariner quickly stepped into the conversation. "Which is why we should think about calling for back-up. By the sound of it this is too big for us to deal with alone." She said, thinking of the fiery creature Chronos had mentioned. It sounded familiar but she couldn't think of where she might have heard it before. 

Zephyr rolled his eyes at the suggestion and let out a quiet snort. "Oh god. Do webreally need to include them? All they ever do is argue. And you know that Engifted and Elementals don't get along. I don't they ever forgave us for becoming the dominant species." He said, glancing over at Mariner as though daring her to disagree with him. He knew he was making a convincing point. 

Nevertheless Mariner still went to retort just out of principle (that and she enjoyed taking Zephyr down a peg or two during these discussions) but was immediately cut off by Celeste, who was rapidly growing bored of all the arguing between the two of them. Maybe one day the two of them would get along... Sure and Elementals, and Engifted would walk hand in hand through fields of flowers. Celeste let out a heavy sounding sigh and shook her head. Besides she, like Mariner, rather enjoyed proving Zephyr wrong. "I'm sorry Zephyr but Mariner is right on this occasion. This is too big for us to deal with alone. We need Elementals to deal with an Elemental." 

Mariner stared at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. "Wait, are you saying that.... but that's impossible. I thought the Great Fire was extinct. Nobody has heard from it in decades." She said, stuttering a little in her eagerness to get the words out. 

"That was what everybody believed but apparently, according to the future Chronos saw, we might have been wrong." Celeste said in reply. "Now if nobody has any further objections, I'm guessing we are agrees that we need to ask the Elementals for back-up." 

She waited for a minute, expecting someone (mostly Zephyr) to speak up against the idea. She was pleasantly surprised when the other Elite's remained silent and favoured the rare experience of everyone failing into agreement. It probably helped that Thanatos was glaring round at them. No one waited to argue with the Elite who possessed power over death itself- not if you wanted to keep your soul inside your body where it belonged. 

Celeste bowed her head to him in thanks and Thanatos gave her a small smile in return. It was good to see him finally settling into his new powers- it had taken him a while to accept he was technically dead after what Nightmare had done and that his new job as Thanatos was the only thing preventing him from crossing over to the other side. Now, after a long time struggling to get his head around it, he finally seemed calm about the whole thing. "So," Thanatos asked, his pitch black wings spread out behind him, "what happens now? How do we contact these Elementals?" He was curious to meet them. He hadn't realized that anyone else existed beside the Engifted. Apparently there was still much he had to learn about the world. 

In answer, rather than saying anything, Celeste held out her hands and summoned a small ball of white light between them. Thanatos stared at it with fascination, wondering what on earth was going to happen next. Celeste merely smiled and closed her eyes, silently sending her desired message into the ball until she was sure the entire thing had been recorded. Then she let go, the ball floating inches above her hands, and lightly blew on it. The light pulsed brightly and when it faded the ball had vanished, sent on its way to the Elementals. Now it was just a case of waiting for an answer. 

Celeste let out a breath. "Let's hope they answer." She said with a smile, not wanting the others to see her uncertainty. There was a high chance they might simply ignore the message. "It's been a while since I last contacted them. I don't know if they still share a headquarter like we do." 

"Oh they do." Chronos said, having just checked this fact out for himself. "In fact they're reading your message as I speak, Celeste..." Without warning his voice trailed away to nothing as the clockwork of his wings began to whirr and grind, a sure sign he was having a vision of the future. "Oh that's not good. Not good at all." He murmured more to himself then to any of the Elite gathered around him. 

Feeling a little twitchy anyway Thanatos instantly jumped on this assuming, rightly as it turned out, that something was going to go wrong. Which, let's face it considering Sherlock and John were involved, was almost guaranteed to happen. "It's Sherlock, isn't it? Oh god, I knew we shouldn't have waited. I told you but none of you would listen!" 

Thanatos gritted his teeth, cursing the damned slowness of the Elite's. The air around him began to crackle with energy as his power slowly rose to the surface. Well, he wasn't going to wait around any longer, regardless of Chronos assurances that help was on the way. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to teleport. He might not know where Sherlock was exactly but he was sure it would be easy enough to track him down. 

Before he could teleport however he was stopped by a hand on his arm. With a growl Thanatos rounded on them to find himself gazing up at Chronos. "Wait a minute and just think about this before you do something stupid." Chronos said perfectly reasonably. "You have no idea where Sherlock is being held or what you'll even face when you get to wherever it is. It would be madness to go in without any information whatsoever." He continued, praying Thanatos would listen to him and see sense. "We need to stick together, to show a united front when the Elementals arrive." 

After a few minutes of indecision over whether he should listen or not, Thanatos nodded and slowly dropped his wings until the tips of his feathers were touching the ground. He swallowed hard, knowing that Chronos was right (much as it pained him to admit it). Still, after the events of last year, he very much wanted to keep his little brother's suffering to a minimum if that was at all possible. He breathed in deeply. "But there has to be something..." 

He never got to finish the end of his sentence. In a brilliant flash of blue and silver light two figures appeared on either side of Thanatos. He started slightly, staring at their strangeness. The other Elite's, having dealt with Elementals before, merely nodded slightly in greeting and stepped back to include the newcomers into the circle. 

Thanatos meanwhile continued to stare regardless of how rude he was probably being. He could barely believe what was in front of him. Towering above the Elite's, it's turquoise scales shimmering like sunlight playing on the surface of a lake was an honest to gods, and extremely real looking, Dragon. It was an incredible sight and one that would have sent any ordinary Engifted falling to their knees in worship. The Elite's however were used to the Elemental's overwhelming presence and no longer felt any such need. This was only one of many sure points between the Dragon and the Elite Engifted. 

On this occasion however there were no snarky comments from the Dragon. Instead his ancient green gaze was watching the new incarnation of Thanatos with interest. He had never gotten to meet the last one, which was a shame because Sherlock Holmes had sounded like he could at least be a decent conversational partner. He could only hope that the older brother would be equally as interesting. 

When the Dragon smiled Chronos felt a shiver run down his spine. He'd forgotten just how wild and ancient North could be. "Greetings death dealer and skin healer, I am North of the water Dragon clan. My companion here," He paused long enough to gesture at the man standing beside him; the tall and rather handsome man with the white wings sprouting from his back. Even Thanatos could tell this guy wasn't an Engifted, there was something different about the way he carried himself. "This is Gabriel of the Angels. It is our great pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

Not knowing the appropriate response to such a greeting Thanatos bowed. It was apparently the right thing to do because North let out a rumbling laugh and lightly clapped him on the shoulder with a taloned paw the size of his head. Gabriel however seemed unimpressed by the bow and regarded Thanatos with an obvious look of distaste. "Could we possibly get on with this meeting?" The Angel sniffed in a clipped and carefully spoken voice. "We don't have all day you know." 

North exchanged a long suffering look with Celeste. Unlike Gabriel he had never had a problem with the Elite Engifted. Sure they might have taken over but, frankly, North was a little glad. Like many of his kind he actually preferred operating from the shadows un-noticed by humanity. Quickly he stepped in to try and defuse the situation. "So your message said that Chronos had had a vision. Something troubling enough that you felt the need to ask us for help." He said, his green eyes flashing. At the same time he became aware of Thanatos still staring at him. A smile crept across his scaly features. "You've never seen a Dragon before, have you? Don't worry. I can reassure you that I don't bite." 

"Well he might if you annoy him!" Zephyr said with a laugh, enjoying the shock on Thanatos's face a little too much. He had the decency to look sheepish though when Celeste shot him a glare that plainly said now wasn't the best time for jokes. Right now there was something much more serious they needed to focus on. 

With an exasperated sigh Celeste ran a hand through her long, blonde hair, sending clouds of glitter spiralling into the air around her. "By the sounds of what Chronos was telling us there is a war coming between Engifted and humans. It goes without saying that this won't be good for the Elementals either because I can't see the humans leaving you alone. Neither of us want to go up against such a war loving species.... but it should be Chronos telling you all this. It was his vision after all. Chronos, why don't you elaborate on what you saw?" She asked, turning round to face the Elite. She froze when she saw the faraway expression on his face. Apparently the vision wasn't over yet. 

There was utter silence as everybody waited for Chronos to come back to the present and tell them what he had seen. Chronos however was unaware of the undivided attention he was receiving. He was too wrapped up in visions of fire and darkness that were becoming clearer by the second, visions in which the Elite's and the two Elementals featured heavily. With a sinking heart he realised it might be better if they didn't get involved. By the looks of it they were only going to make it ten times worse. 

Finally the vision ended and he slowly dragged himself back to the present, blinking against the bright light that seared painfully into his eyes after so much darkness. Gradually he became aware that everyone was staring at him. He swallowed hard before he began to speak. "I don't think there is anything we can do to help. By the looks of it we only make everything worse." 

"What do you mean make everything worse? We have a duty of care to the Engifted. We can't just sit back and let them get hurt!" Mariner cries, her voice breaking slightly with the intensity of her emotions. Beside her Thanatos nodded in agreement and moved to take Mariner's hand in a show of solidarity. 

Chronos shook his head. "In the place where the Engifted are being experimented on," here Thanatos made a small noise of distress, "there is also one of London's Ancient one's slumbering beneath the foundations. With our combined powers we are sure to wake it up." 

"But what about Sherlock? You were saying earlier about how much danger he was in. We're still going to help him. Right?" Thanatos glanced round at the grim faces of the other Elite Engifted and realised that this Ancient One (whatever the hell it might be) apparently changed everything. Suddenly help didn't look like it would be so forthcoming. In desperation he turned to the two Elementals to find out how they were reacting to the news. He was relieved to see that they merely looked thoughtful. Maybe things weren't so hopeless after all. "Please. I have to help my brother." 

Gabriel tipped his head to one side and appeared to be considering this intently. "Well one or two of us couldn't hurt. Perhaps the Ancient One would ignore a few of us." He said seriously, glancing over at North as though wanting to gauge the Dragon's reaction. A grin spread across his face when North nodded and he turned to Celeste with a triumphant expression in his light blue eyes. "Looks like we can help you after all." 

Chronos doesn't look so sure. "I really don't think that's such a good idea..." He began before Gabriel cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

"It's decided. North, Thanatos and I will travel to... where exactly are the Engifted being held?" He asked, gazing earnestly at Chronos as he waited for an answer. Thanatos felt a smile spread across his face. Thank god somebody was listening to him. 

Chronos remained silent for as long as he could. Even three powerful people would be enough to cause the Ancient One to stir... But then was it fair to stop Thanatos from helping his brother? He let out an irritated sigh, knowing there was nothing he could really do to stop the Elementals. They had a habit of doing their own thing and doing it their own way. This was yet another reason the Elementals and the Elite Engifted didn't get along all that well. 

Gabriel pointedly cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "Come now Chronos. You should know more then anyone that time is of the essence. You called us for help- so let us help." 

Finally Chronos admitted defeat and shot Celeste a look of apology before he told Gabriel where they needed to travel to. "White Knight Enterprises. Its a huge warehouse complex on the outskirts of the city. The Engifted are being kept in the main laboratory." He said with a sigh, knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent the future from happening. The Ancient One would awaken and the war would begin. He could only pray there wouldn't be too many casualties. 

Decision made North, Gabriel and Thanatos activated their powers and prepared to teleport to the place in question. Celeste and Zephyr shook their heads in disbelief that they would take such a massive risk while Mariner merely gave Thanatos a smile and mentally wished the three of them good luck. She hoped he would be able to rescue his brother. 

Then the two Elementals and the Elite Engifted took a single step forward and vanished with absolutely no idea of what they would face when they reached White Knight Enterprises. None of them could possibly have foreseen just how badly wrong everything would go. Only Chronos was privy to that information and he would curse himself later for not having stopped them from going. Hindsight truely is a wonderful thing. 


	6. Interlude- Sally Donovan

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

In her cramped office in Scotland Yard Sally Donovan paces from side to side while she tried to decide what the hell she was going to do. She had thought it was a great idea to send Sherlock and John after Greg, but now she was beginning to re-think that decision as a not so great one. All three of them had now gone missing. 

Sally let out a groan and stopped her pacing long enough to gaze at the whiteboard covered with pictures and theories relating to the case. A case that was rapidly becoming incredibly personal. She gritted her teeth as she searched for a connection, trying to resist the urge to punch something. At the moment everything seemed to be leading back to Dwight White and his facility but so far they didn't have any real evidence. And without evidence there was no way she could get a search warrant. 

Sally shook her head. All of this waiting around was the worst part. Sure Sherlock could be annoying at times but he had proved to be useful over the years. Sally was even beginning to consider him as a friend...and that was something she never thought would happen. A faint smile spread across her face. She was still thinking about this when there was a knock on her office door. Without looking round she told the person standing outside to enter. "What is it? Is there anything new?" She asked, her gaze fixed on the invitation that had been found in Greg's flat. As of yet no-one had been able to figure out why he had sent an invitation for a major scientific event. Sally knew that if they could work that out the entire case would make sense. She turned around when the person behind her loudly cleared their throat. 

Anderson's face was grim as he took another step into the office and held out the day's newspaper to Sally. He didn't say a word the entire time. Intrigued Sally reached out to take the paper and unfolded it so she could read the headline emblazoned on the front. Her heart sank a little when she saw it. _'Government votes on new laws against Engifted.'_ Beside this is a smaller, but no less shocking headline, _'All Engifted to be put on a register?'_. There was no way this could be a good thing. 

Since the events involving Nightmare many groups had campaigned for more restrictions on the Engifted and their incredible powers. To them Engifted were highly dangerous creatures who needed to be controlled. Sally had had no idea that the Government agreed with them. Greg was going to be furious when he found out. Like Sally he believed that if humans left Engifted alone they would be left alone in turn. So far that philosophy seemed to be working. 

Sally swore loudly and slammed the newspaper down onto her desk. Damn, sometimes she really hated being in charge! Everything always seemed to kick off when Greg was away and she was left to pick up the pieces. Now she had two things to worry about because once this news spread throughout the Engifted community there would be protests, and possibly even riots as well. Sure Sally understood the need for a register but why wouldn't it have been introduced in a more subtle way? Letting out a sigh she glanced over at Anderson, who was standing in the doorway and watching her intently. "Any news on John and Sherlock?" She asked in an attempt to change the subject. 

Anderson looked uncomfortable, shifting on the spot and staring resolutely down at the floor as though he was unable to meet Sally's eye. "We recovered some CCTV footage from one of the camera's outside the facility. It confirms that they did definitely arrive but that they never left. But that's all we know for now." He said in a quiet voice, expecting Sally to start shouting at him for not having more evidence. 

Instead of getting angry however Sally shook her head and collapsed into the chair behind the desk. She looked tired, almost as though she was growing weary of solving crime day in and day out. She knew that without a search warrant her hands were tied but if Sherlock and John really were in danger... surely it was worth breaking a few minor rules over. Choice made she straightened and looked Anderson squarely in the eye. 

Anderson returned the gaze without flinching. "We going to go after them. Aren't we?" He said in a matter of fact voice that contained no judgement whatsoever. He had been hoping they would. Though Sherlock often teased him Anderson would feel terrible if something happened to the detective. Over the years Sherlock had saved the Metropolitan Police and Scotland Yard from considerable embarrassment. They were favours they would finally get to return. "I'll get the team together for a briefing when you're ready." He said with a smile before he left the room. 

For several moments afterwards Sally continued to stare down at the newspaper and its potentially life altering headlines. Then she took a deep breath, pushed back her chair and stood. She would worry about the register and the new government legislation once Greg, Sherlock and John were eagerly back at home. Right now they were all she cared about. All she could do was hope that, wherever the three of them might be, they were safe and unharmed. Deep down however she knew this was probably too much to ask for. 


	7. A new development- John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update's taking so long, I currently have a presentation and a 3000 word essay due in for my university course. After the 14th of December I'll be able to start updating regularly again.

God only knows how much time has gone past since I first walked through the doors of this evil place. Sometimes it feels like minutes or hour and other times it feels like entire months have gone past without me realising. I really hope the second one isn't true because I like to think that Sally and Anderson would have done something about mine and Sherlock's disappearance... 

I swallow hard and hug myself tightly. It is still hard to think about Sherlock and the state I last saw him in. It is horrific to even consider the enormity of what Dwight White is doing; physically taking an Engifted's power and injecting it into ordinary humans. Even now the thought makes me feel a little sick. It wouldn't be so bad if Sherlock was with us but after our initial, tearful reunion he was dragged off to god only knows where while Greg and Myself were thrown into a tiny room with three glass walls and one made up entirely of bars. From the moment I laid eyes on it an icy shiver ran down my spine. It is a room obviously made for observing people and judging by the look of fear in Greg's eyes as we were pushed through the door, he is already too familiar with what goes on in this place. 

Even now I am still finding it difficult to accept that my friend now has a pair of wings growing from his back. As of yet (and this is something I am a little glad of) he has not shown any signs of developing powers to go along with his new wings. And speaking of Greg... I realise I have not spoken to him for a while. I'm not sure if he appreciates it or not but I have been trying to distract him by talking about everything but the situation we are currently in. So far, I think, it has been working pretty well... 

"Of course I appreciate it John. Without you here I would have given up a long time ago." Greg says from where he is sitting in the opposite corner. 

Slowly I turn to look at him. Ok, so I am pretty certain I didn't say any of that aloud. Though there is also the possibility I might have been talking out loud because I have been known to do that when I'm feeling stressed. The look on Greg's face however quickly makes me realise this is not the case. Swallowing hard I ask the question to which I am dreading to hear the question. "Did you just read my mind?" 

Greg pales further, his eyes wide and scared as he looks at me. "I think I did." He replies in a voice barely above a whisper. He looks so lost that I stand and go over to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. I feel him trembling slightly but he doesn't pull away. Instead he lets out a quiet sigh and rests his head on my shoulder in return. There is silence for a moment and then Greg breaks it with a statement even more shocking than the previous one. "John, I think I can sense your emotions." 

I pull back a little so I can look him in the eye. He seems unable to return my gaze and instead stares off at one of the walls of glass and the empty corridor beyond it. "What do you mean 'you can sense my emotions?' Is it just a feeling or can you actually see them?" I ask, curious to find out more. After Sherlock became Thanatos, the living incarnation of death, for a while I have found I no longer have any fear of the Engifted. In fact I now feel a little sorry for them and everything they have to go through. A sudden thought comes to me. "Did it hurt getting your wings?" 

This apparently is the wrong thing to ask because Greg shrugs off my arm and hugs his knees tightly, rocking back and forth on the spot. "I mean it just like that. I can sense your emotions. Right now you are feeling afraid, angry, worried and a little curious." He says, a faint smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. "You have some screwed up emotions." I notice he does not answer my second question and I decide not to push him. I'm sure he'll answer when he's ready. The look on his face tells him clearly that he heard that thought. I wince. Somehow I am going to need to figure out how to guard my thoughts so he can't read all of them. I get the feeling it will quickly grow tiresome to have him keep reading them. 

"Hey I just realised something! You're job as a police officer is going to be so much easier now people can't lie to you!" This is supposed to be reassuring but to my horror Greg begins to cry with great noisy sobs that shake his entire body. "Hey-hey, it's going to be ok. I'm sure there's a rescue party already on the way as we speak. Someone will have noticed Sherlock and I are missing." I say in an attempt to make him feel better. The shake in my voice somewhat spoils the effect however. Despite my best efforts to remain positive I am slowly beginning to lose hope. During my darker moments I begin to doubt I will ever see Sherlock again. Now it is my time to start crying. "We're never getting out of here." I cry, burying my head in my hands. 

Seconds later I feel a hand grip my shoulder but I don't look up or even acknowledge that Greg is there. "John...I wish there was something I could say to make this better but nothing is going to change where we are..." 

As he speaks I become aware of a faint electrical charge running from his hand into my shoulder, and then down my arm where it slowly spreads into my entire body. In its wake is left a pleasant feeling of warmth. Suddenly I don't feel like crying anymore. Sniffing loudly I reach up to wipe away the tears from my eyes before giving Greg a small smile. He looks back at me with a bemused expression. "So apparently you can manipulate emotions as well." I tell him, trying to keep my voice light but unable not to think about the poor Engifted who probably died in order for this to be possible. 

Greg must feel the same way because he lets go of my shoulder and sits back with a dazed expression on his face. He opens his mouth to say something but then freezes, his eyes fixed on the glass wall behind me. I frown at him for a moment and then turn to look at what has so captured his attention. A quiet gasp escapes me. What the hell? This is no way this can be real. Behind me Greg lets out a peculiar choking noise and I glance over my shoulder to check he is ok. Apart from being as white as flour he seems fine. Slowly, still in a slight daze of disbelief, I turn my attention back to the person standing on the other side of the glass. 

Impossible though it is, Mycroft Holmes stares back at me with a sheepish looking smile. There is no sign of the terrible wound inflicted by Nightmare and for a moment I begin to wonder if the whole thing had ever actually happened. But then I remember Sherlock's very real and all consuming grief and realise that it did actually happen. Somehow, impossibly, Mycroft Holmes has returned from the dead. But strangely enough this isn't the weirdest thing about this dubious re-union. Unknown to me there are stranger things still to come. Because I am so fixed on Mycroft it is a moment before I notice that two other people have joined him and are standing patiently on either side of him. Well, I say people but that is in fact very far from the actual truth because I can say with certainty that neither of the two newcomers are in fact human. Swallowing hard I back up a few steps so I am standing beside Greg. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" I ask in a last futile attempt that this might all be nothing but a hallucination. My hopes are quickly dashed however when Greg slowly shakes his head. Right, ok then. So there really is a dragon standing in the corridor outside, an oddly sympathetic expression in it's green eyes. I let out a groan and close my eyes for a moment. Just when I though this situation couldn't get any worse. 

Letting out a heavy sigh I open my eyes again and let out a cry of shock. Somehow, in the time I wasn't paying attention, the three of them have managed to get inside the room without having to open the door. Instinctivly I flinch away from them, unwilling to trust any of them until I know for certain why they are here. Greg apparently is exactly the opposite because before I can stop him he rushes forward and throws his arms around Mycroft. For a moment Mycroft looks taken aback by the gesture, but then his expression softens and he wraps his arms around Greg in a tight hug. "I thought you were dead." Greg says, his voice little more than a choked whisper as tears course down his cheeks. "How are you even still alive?" This is a good question and one I would very much like to be answered, especially since Mycroft now seems to be sporting a pair of very familiar looking black wings with delicate lace like feathers. I could have sworn Sherlock had something similiar when he became the Elite Engifted, Thanatos. Not that Greg seems to care. At the moment he is aware of nothing but Mycroft's return and I don't think he will be letting him out of his sight anytime soon. 

In the end however the explanation doesn't come from Mycroft himself. Instead one of the others steps forward and loudly clears his throat. I briefly turn my attention towards him, noting the beautiful white wings growing from his back. They are unlike anything I have ever seen on an Engifted; the colour far purer and irresdescent then just plain white. They remind me a little in fact of the illustrations of stereotypical angels you see on christmas cards... it is an illusion that is very quickly shattered by what comes out of his mouth and I quickly find myself revising my opinion of him. He actually isn't all that angelic when you get to know him. 

"Well actually he is not alive any more. You see he did die when the Nightmare tore out his heart." The guy with the wings says with a little too much gleefullness in his voice. He doesn't even seem to care about the obvious distress he is causing Greg and is about to say something further when the dragon lets out a growl, basically cutting him off mid-sentence. He rolls his eyes. "What? I'm only telling them the truth, North." He says, sounding put out. OK, I am really starting to dislike this guy- though I can't put my finger on what exactly rubs me up the wrong way about him. He just doesn't seem like a very likable person. 

The dragon lets out another growl. "Ignore Gabriel, Mr Watson if it pleases you. He is a misrable bastard at the best of times and a downright unlikable one the rest of the time. The other Elementals and myself just tend to ignore him." He says with a rumbling laugh that sounds like waves crashing against the bottom of a cliff. 


End file.
